


Shuffle

by Greensilver (Trelkez)



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-09
Updated: 2009-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 19:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trelkez/pseuds/Greensilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is dreaming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shuffle

Jack is dreaming.

In the dream, a man is about to die alone. There's no great shock in it -- he always knew he'd die alone -- but he feels unfinished, incomplete, like there's more to do or see or _touch_.

He supposes that's true for everyone, when they die. He could live forever and still be unfinished at the end of the world.

He's about to die, but then a hole opens up in the universe and he falls through, falling and falling, and somewhere music is playing, a song he knows--

He awakens with a jolt, gasping, body braced for a fall.

"Come on, wake up," Rose is saying, shaking him by a handful of his bright blue shirt. "You're missing it -- there are more moons than stars up there."

"That's because the moons are too bright for you to _see_ the stars," Jack mumbles, cracking one eye open to squint up at her.

She kicks his foot. "It's pretty."

"It's _very_ pretty," he says, giving her a slow, sly smile.

"_Oi_," the Doctor says, kicking Jack's other foot. "We're meant to be moongazing, not flirting."

"I can multitask," Jack says, honestly not intending it to sound as suggestive as it does. That gets him kicked on both sides, and he raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm moongazing, already."

After a moment of contemplative silence, Rose nudges him. "What were you dreaming about?"

"Falling," he says.

She smiles down at him, lit by moonlight, her hand still fisted in his shirt. "Oh, I hate those. Once I dreamt that--"

Jack awakens all at once, his eyes snapping open. There's a ceiling above him and a chair beneath him; he isn't falling, or lying beneath the moons of Balhoon -- he's in his office, in Torchwood.

Somewhere, music is playing -- a song he knows, an old one. The music must be in his head, a lingering remnant of his dream, but for just a moment he entertains the possibility that the music is actually coming in through the Rift, swinging in from an earlier time in Torchwood's history.

He gets to his feet a little more heavily than usual, feeling slow and stupid and irritable, all prime reasons he generally doesn't indulge in sleep. There's a flurry of movement at the corner of his vision, through the open office door, and he stumbles after it in a thick-headed fog, all curiosity and no caution; if someone had somehow broken in, there'd have been an alarm. Ianto, then. None of the others would be around at this hour.

He hears their laughter before he sees them -- Gwen's sharp and loud, Ianto's short and soft -- and he pauses just beyond the doorway, not wanting to disturb them.

Ianto's voice is teasing. "Hanging on?"

"Why are -- _Ianto!_ Don't you dare drop me, or I swear I'll--"

Jack hears the scuff-squeak of rubber soles spinning over cement and realizes that the music is real -- that they're dancing, the pair of them, just beyond that door.

If he steps through, he can join them, if just for a little while.

"Jack?"

Jack startles awake. The music is gone; Ianto and Gwen, they're gone. He's lying in a field under a night sky lit with stars, and his coat is spread out beneath him as a makeshift blanket. On the far edge of the blue wool, a young man with dark hair and dark eyes sits with his chin on his palm, watching Jack stir.

"Where were you, just then?" The man says, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers.

Jack rubs at his eyes with one hand, pressing down on his eyelids to blot out the stars. "Where am I now?"

The man rolls his eyes and draws out Jack's name, exasperated and fond -- "_Jack,_" the way only he says it, only him, because he's the only one who knows Jack's name out here.

"Doctor," Jack says, dropping his hand to stare up at the stars, "do you ever dream about -- dreaming?"

The Doctor smiles at him. "Is your subconscious having a go at you in your sleep, Captain?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." Jack makes a vague gesture at the sky, just to give his restless hands something to do. "Most of my dreams are memories, and some of those memories are of dreaming, and it's very--"

"Confusing?"

"I was going to say _unsettling,_" Jack says dryly, folding his arms across his chest.

The Doctor stretches out next to him, lying close enough for their shoulders to press together. "Does that mean you dream about memories of dreaming about memories?"

Jack tilts his head to look at the Doctor. "I _think_ that's what I just said."

"That's very recursive, isn't it?" The Doctor grins up at the sky. "Eventually, you'll dream about memories of dreaming about memories of dreaming about memories of--"

"_Wake up._"

Jack opens his eyes reluctantly, caught in a semi-aware space between dreaming and waking. "'m awake."

A girl with bright eyes and wild hair pokes at his undefended right side, again and again. "Wake up, Dad. Wake up. Wake up."

"I _said_ I was awake," Jack points out, and drags a pillow over his head. She only jabs him in the ribs again, her sing-song wake-up call barely muffled by layers of synthetic cotton and down: _wake up, Dad, wake up_\--

He huffs out a singularly exasperated sigh and whacks her with the pillow. "I'm awake, already!"

"Papa said it's time to get out of bed," River informs him.

Oh,_ did_ he. Jack squints at his daughter speculatively, watching her eyes narrow in turn.

"No greens with dinner if you don't tell him I'm awake," he tries.

"I'm telling him that, too," she says, and bolts out of the room. "_Papa!_"

Jack should probably chase after her, but it's far more pleasant to simply retrieve his pillow, roll over, and go back to--

The midday sun is beating down on the field where Jack lies drowsing, half-awake. He squints up at a man with red hair and a red, sunburnt nose, bringing a hand up to his eyes to block out the worst of the light.

"Where were you, just then?" The Doctor asks, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers.

Jack smiles at him in shadow, tilting his head. "Where am I now?"


End file.
